Leanne and I had been in a relationship for almost two years at that point, and she being two years my younger still had High School to contend with.We were to be married the summer of '83 after her graduation. Mom and dad both had different perspectives and opinions on the whole situation. I believe my mother thought as I had joined the military and was traveling around, that I would someday meet another woman, and forget the notion of marrying Leanne. She often encouraged me not to commit to the relationship and experience other facets of life and someday my time would come. I was always unsure as to Lori's perception and opinion on the subject, but at the time had probably not really cared much one way or another. I did sense that she too tended to side with mom and air on the side of caution, but much like mom, she kept her feelings and opinions to herself, unless there was a blatant cause for speaking her mind.

Dad, well he was the opposite. He was the smart ass in the family. Always quick with some stupid line or ignorant comment to break the ice. He was a flirt to all women, and I believe in his own way had a soft spot for Leanne. He would be the one to smooth over the rough conversations with mom in regards to my personal life, relationships, behaviors, etc. He was a small man in stature, no bigger than an average 12 year old in size. He was a workaholic, a good provider, and an alcoholic, though even to this day refuses to see the addiction was ever there.

There had come the point while on leave between duty assignments that the "Independence" conversation had taken place. I was now a young man, having recently completed basic training and my first phase of schooling as a Hospital Corpsman and I was itching to prove my independence and force the letting go and gaining the acceptance as an adult and an individual. All parents have gone through this or will, at least once in their lifetime. Mine however, were not ready for that to happen. They still clung to the younger years and the protective side of all things involved in my life.

So with news of the proposal being dropped in their laps at the airport as I was bording came a full wave of advice, emotions, and so much more. At that point I could only imagine the trip home with the three of them stuck in a car for more than an hour and a half. I sure didn't envy Leanne at that time. I had done an incredible amount of growing up in those weeks at Boot Camp, and was now a force to be reckoned with in the realm of conversation, formidableness, and power struggles. No longer was I in need to conform to parental structure and be the obedient son they use to know. I was an individual, and hesitated not to express myself openly and fully with the intent of victory. After all, it was now my life, in my control, and to live according to my standards, nobody else’s. That’s the way I was raised, to become independent and capable of being self sustaining as an adult.

From this, I was then to report to, my first regular duty station. I was assigned to Naval Regional Medical Center in Portsmouth, Virginia. At the time, I had not had any specialty training other than basic hospital corps schooling, and was assigned duties throughout the hospital to become familiar with the many different aspects of working in a hospital. So one day I may have been working the supply room, the next security, and the following a patient ward... I grew tired of the constant shifting of duties, and decided to take up a residence off base. Another fellow corpsman having followed me from my corps classes in Chicago opted to rent an apartment and split living costs, etc.

I began looking for some volunteer work in local hospitals to earn some extra money, and to learn a particular skill. I ended up volunteering for a local ambulance service and had become EMT certified and able to do ride alongs, all the while gaining valuable experience. After about eight months of this I still had no specialty rating under the corpsman’s grade in service. I approached my then leading Chief Petty Officer about obtaining a class-C school. He accepted my request, and within two weeks, I was off to Camp Jejune, NC. yup...I managed to get myself assigned to Field Med. School with the Marine Corps. Semper Fi! This was not what I had in mind...I remember thinking, great... Boot Camp all over again. Now there was an experience.

Having completed Field Med School I was then reassigned back to NRMC Portsmouth, why, I don't know...convenience maybe. So again I was stuck with the routine of multi departmental assignments, seeing as there was no need for a Field Medic at the complex. Another few months dragged on before I again approached the Base Commander about a C- school placement. I had become interested in psychiatry for some unbenounced reasons. I suppose I in my own way wanted to know what made me and others tick. Having worked several security details and dealing with many of the mental health professionals at the hospital also gave me something to shoot for and had given me enough curiosity to further push for the specialty school.

Surprisingly, the Base Commander granted me my request having been recently re-assigned from a C-school. Next destination was Ft. Sam Houston, San Antonio, Texas. There was a shocker... I had already been assigned to a naval base, a Marine Corps base, and now to an Army base.

Let me tell ya a little secret about Texas folks...it’s downright unruly when it comes to temperatures. Here I was a New England boy all my life, smack dab in a heat wave from hell. Of course, I had to be assigned during the summer season which just amplified effects pounding and coursing through my system. I had sweat coming from places I never knew existed. I did get to see firsthand how different branches of the service worked though. This was a good experience for me, but also showed the stupidity in some people. Regardless, I had again been accepted for who and what I was.

Bad experience chalked up to stupidity:

 Back during that time, it was common for service branches to reside together in the barracks. I had been assigned with a young kid (I say young kid, but was actually my age) that was a strapping young man. He was a health nut from hell...into body building, purifying everything he could, and so forth. We had gotten wind of a surprise inspection to be taken place in the next twenty four hours. It had been decided we would get a jump on the others in the surrounding barracks and began cleaning, organizing etc. At one point, Steve, my roommate, had opted to clean the head (Bathroom). As he had been marked demerits for that area before, and didn't want to receive another with punitive results. He managed to round up some bleach products and began scrubbing the walls, floor etc. No big deal there.

Well after several minute, apparently he was not getting the results he wanted. So he walked off and then returned with some chlorine and ammonia cleaning solutions. In he went again to begin the scrub down. This time however the door had shut behind him as he entered. In the meantime, I had been working on other areas of the barracks, and straightening racks, lockers, etc. Maybe twenty minutes had passed and I felt the need to relieve myself. I approached the door, gave it a wrap and verbally prompted him that I was in need of the facilities. I received no response, and went back to my tasks. Another five or so minutes had passed, and I again felt the need to use the facilities. Along comes wrap number two and an increased vocal prompt as the urgency was growing rapidly. Still no response, Ok now at this time I opened the door, and was greeted with a one, two, knock out.

Seems Steve had created the perfect little scenario for chlorine and hydrochloric gases to build up in that little space, and my introduction of oxygen having opened the door was all it took. I was blasted with this gaseous residue from head to toe, an immediate stinging and burning sensation rang through my eyes, and gasping for a breath was a big mistake. I had been knocked out cold. I awoke some eight hours later having been placed on a stretcher, then a gurney, and had undergone minor eye surgery, as well as having an irritated larynx, and this putrid and disgusting taste in my mouth such as the likes I never had before. .

My next few weeks were nothing more than lucky and somewhat miraculous. I had been concerned about meeting the graduation deadline as now I had two eyes basically rendered useless for the time being, as they were wrapped in gauze and undergoing periodic flushes, and was unable to read class materials, etc. I was also unable to complete military standard physical trainings laying flat on my back, and having oxygen pumped into me. My concerns were for graduating on time and meeting the plans of the wedding we had laid prior to my leaving St.Jonsbury. My classmates to the rescue. They came by volunteering their time for reading and reviewing class material with me after giving the instructor some edging and pushing for approval of graduation if I passed the final exams and on time.

It was a successful effort on their and my part. We would hold after class study halls on the ward and in the library, and even several times after hours at bedside. They were truly angels among the military. This again just alluded to the fact that I had been accepted, regardless of circumstance. In all, I spent the better part of three weeks recuperating from stupidity, and Steve almost four. He was actually lucky to have been alive at that point.